


Mer

by sunlight_moonlight



Category: Suspiria (2019)
Genre: Absolutely Shitty Boyfriends, Arguing, Artistic License, Dysfunctional Relationships, Gen, Seriously Fuck This Guy, Verbal Abuse
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-01-09
Updated: 2020-01-09
Packaged: 2021-02-27 07:47:32
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,715
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22183567
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sunlight_moonlight/pseuds/sunlight_moonlight
Summary: "Why don't you try speaking to me like you love me, huh? For a change?"A drabble about Olga and the person she was arguing with over the phone.
Kudos: 3





	Mer

"I was thinking," Ivan said, "The next time you come home from Germany, we should start planning the wedding."

Olga looked over from the car window, taken off guard by her fiance's words. They left a little sinking feeling in her stomach, and encouraged a sense of disgust that she tried not to let through on her face. She forgot she was even engaged to him, sometimes. She gave him a little hum in response, nodding her head in faux-agreement. Plan the wedding, he says. If all went as planned on her end, there would be no wedding. She became acutely aware at this moment that she was taking far too long to break things off with Ivan, but right now definitely wasn't the time to try--she'd have to fake it just a little bit longer, just one more month or so, because she'd be back in Berlin in a week anyway and then far away from him. Berlin had actually been the sole thing that prevented their marriage for so long, because Olga was just simply never home. No arrangements could be made if she was several countries away and constantly busy at the company.

"I was thinking we could go to Saint Petersburg for it, to my family church," he continued, and this only served to irritate Olga much, much more. Of course he would want her to go to _his_ home city for the wedding, never mind the fact that for her, it would be a several hours' drive. She was born and raised the beginning of her life in Smolensk, and still lived closer there than anywhere near Saint Petersburg. There were so many beautiful churches in Smolensk, it was so culturally and historically rich and it would be far easier on her to have the ceremony there--Hell, it would be easier for her to go to _Moscow_. No, though, Ivan would have to have it where he was born and where his family had been situated for generations. She knew that Ivan had probably already mapped out the entire wedding in his head, every single detail from location to arrangements and probably even her own goddamn dress, because it was always more about him than her. Everything was. No matter the fact that she lived out in the country and wouldn't even have the benefit of starting off _from_ Smolensk, and that still wouldn't shave off that much time from the drive. No matter the fact that she had two older parents and five siblings that would also have to find a way to get to Saint Petersburg, or the fact that her family was nowhere near as wealthy as Ivan's. No matter, right?

No, what churches Smolensk had were probably too small and shitty for him, not opulent enough. He needed one of the grandiose cathedrals in one of the big cities to host their wedding so that he could show off just how much money he had, so that people would gawk at just how beautiful and huge the ceremony would be, so that they would know his _status_ in society. Olga could've reached over and slapped him.

"That would be nice," was what she said instead of doing that. "But I don't know how my family's going to get there."  
"We can manage," he responded. "I'll be with you before we leave, of course. I'm not going to just sit in Saint Petersburg while you all try to find your way there by yourselves."   
Olga felt a hot rush of anger as he kept talking. "You know my father's been there before," she said, a little more nasally, unable now to keep her irritation totally out of her voice. "We could find our way. I'm just worried about the reliability of our vehicles, and how many people can fit in them. Isidora just drives a regular car and my father's truck isn't at all trustworthy. And my siblings still have school."  
"Well, we'll _manage_ , Olga," Ivan said again, more insistent this time. Olga thought he might be trying to be reassuring but knowing him, he was probably getting irritated, too. He did reach over, though, and put his hand on her leg. She wanted to grimace.  
"I sure hope so," she responded, clenching her jaw with crossed arms. She looked out the window again and sighed through her nostrils. Thank God, he was pulling into her driveway now, but her driveway was long, and that meant a bit more time to be spent in the car with him. Even a few more minutes was too long.

The car bumped over the uneven dirt road, headlights shining bright over the complete darkness of the countryside at night. "Have you thought about what kind of dress you want to wear?" His voice sounded distinctly more stilted now. He was definitely able to tell that Olga was unimpressed, and she could already feel the argument coming.  
"Mmh, no," she responded with a shrug and a shake of her head, still not looking at him. "I haven't been home long enough to really look for one. Mom and I were talking about that dress shop that opened up in town, though, so we might go there."  
"In town?" Ivan asked, voice low. Olga was getting angrier and angrier by the moment, because she knew that he was about to insult the quality of the place, without ever having been there, just because it was a small town on the outskirts of every other city.  
"I was thinking you might at least look in Smolensk." There it was. Olga scoffed, now turning her head and responding, "The one nearest to here is going to be the easiest, travel and money wise. We've driven by several times; their dresses are _beautiful_."  
His hand left her leg. "You know I would give you money for the nicest dress you can get," he said, almost confrontationally, as he pulled up to the house. He stopped a few feet away from the tall front porch, turning the ignition off, headlights beams vanishing.  
"'Nicest'?" Now Olga could not help herself. She knew she was instigating him, she knew that a fight was going to happen whether she liked it or not, but she had never been one to keep quiet on speaking her mind anyway--especially not with him. "Why is a wedding dress from a local small business not any 'nicer' than one from the city?"  
"Olga--" Ivan cut himself off, shutting his eyes and blowing a harsh breath out through his nose. "That is not what I _meant_. Jesus, why are you always so quick to contradict me?"  
"Why have you been so quick to dictate how this wedding will go?" she countered, sitting up straighter. "I haven't even had two seconds to think about the wedding for myself yet, but that doesn't mean I don't have ideas. It doesn't mean I haven't been wanting to talk to my family about things, or you--why have you already decided where it'll happen? Can I not even choose where I get my gown from?"  
"That's not what I'm saying!" Ivan exclaimed, and there it was: the argument. "Why are you so eager to put words in my mouth all the time? I just said I thought we could have it in Saint Petersburg."  
"And what if I said I want it in Smolensk?"  
"Well, do you want it in Smolensk?"  
"Maybe I do. My family is rooted there and has been for generations, I was born there. Our family church is there."  
"Maybe, maybe," Ivan mocked, rolling his eyes angrily. "See, that's my point--you haven't thought about this wedding, not at all, I've had to do any of the planning that's even been considered so far and I know you haven't because you're always over in the West, preoccupied with this pretentious dance company you're in--"  
"Who are you to dictate what is pretentious or not?" Olga shot back. Now she was bristling, sitting straight forward, staring holes into his face. "My dancing is my _life_ , and I will not fucking sit here and listen to you insult it for no reason other than you being upset because I challenged you on something."  
"What did you 'challenge' me on?" Ivan asked condescendingly, shaking his head and rolling his eyes.  
"Where you want this wedding to be," Olga replied, pressing her lips thin. "You need to understand, Ivan, that no matter how much money you may have, and no matter how much money you may give us, that my parents are not getting any younger or healthier and I have _five siblings_ , three of them not even out of school yet. Sabina is about to graduate, even, and this would be the worst time for her grades to fall. I don't want a single ounce of stress to be placed on them in getting to this damn wedding, especially not my mother and father, and there is no way for them to get to Saint Petersburg without that. Unless you want to buy us all new cars, Ivan? Do you? Do you want to buy my father a nice new station wagon and me a car of my own to drive in? Do you want to call my sisters' school and tell them that they're going to be gone for half a week just to attend a _wedding?_ Hm?"

Ivan sat there, speechless and glowering as Olga laid into him. She was breathing heavily by the time she was done, looking right into his eyes, and she could see the vitriol that lay behind them, brimming at the edges. There had never been a time that Olga could disagree with him without entering some kind of debate about it, and of course, this was no different. She knew it wouldn't be.

"All you do is sit and wait," he finally spoke, after several moments of silence, "You sit and wait for me to say something that you don't like, so that you can pounce on it and rip me to shreds. All you ever want to fucking do is argue with me."  
"Because all you've ever done was instigate me," Olga stated flatly. "You insult my passion, my home, you're trying to subtly tell me that getting a dress from a tiny rural town isn't going to be as quality as one from a larger city. Do you think I don't see through the things you say to me, Ivan? Do you think I don't know what you're trying to say?"  
"Jesus Christ, Olga, I'd just like it if the dress _looked nice!_ " And then, as Ivan registered the exact wording of what he'd just yelled, he gained a sort of horrified look on his face. A bitter and crooked smile spread across Olga's face, teeth still clenched. She'd cornered him, and he fucked up--she'd caught him. "I see," was all she had to say, unbuckling her seatbelt and getting ready to step around the side of the house and cool off before she went inside. But as things turned out, he wouldn't even let her do that yet, because he wasn't done.

"Oh, so you're just going to walk out now and run away from this like you do every time?!" Ivan exclaimed, looking at her in livid disbelief. She whipped her head back around at him, a piece of her hair having fallen out of her bun.  
"Why the fuck are we even discussing marriage when _this_ is what our relationship is like?" he asked, hands splayed open. "What the fuck is the point, then?!"  
"Oh, rich for that to be coming out of your mouth, Ivan," Olga sneered, grabbing the door handle. "Bold of you to assume it's not you who's torn this fucking relationship down. It should be me saying that to you, since you hate every-fucking-thing about my life and where I live. You think I'm just poor little Olga, who's so unfortunate to have to live all the way out here in the middle of nowhere and that you're doing me a favor by 'fixing' me by moving me out of here, away from my family and animals and art, and into the big city so you can show me the _good_ life, with all your fucking money and selfishness and apathy, right?"  
"Fuck you, Olga!" Ivan yelled, slamming his hands onto the steering wheel. "I've done nothing but give to you and love you all that I can, but you know what? You sure do make it hard when you're such a bitch!"  
"Oh, fuck off and die, Ivan," she hissed. She'd had more than enough now, it was already enough but this was **enough**. She wanted to go inside, take a cold shower and just forget about this asshole until she could go back to Berlin.  
"I bet you'd like that, wouldn't you?" he said then, laughing bitterly. Olga's face finally twisted into the disgusted grimace it wanted to some ten-odd minutes ago. "What?" she asked.  
"If I died," Ivan responded with a small smile that was as bitter as his words. But it was smug, too. Olga had learned to identify that smugness behind whatever emotional facade he was putting up during arguments like this, that cheeky smirk that hid behind the 'sadness' he wore on his face. He was guilt tripping her, as if she even really meant that, as if he meant that. She could only shake her head, having to use every ounce of restraint she had to keep from actually going after him. This was such a reach.  
"Fuck you," was all she could say. "Fuck you."  
"Fuck you, too," he responded, leaning in closer to her face, and she felt the primal urge to bite him. "I wish you'd just shut up like every other woman I've dated has. I have never been argued with so much by one--"  
"Why don't you just go on home before I slash your fucking tires, Ivan?" Olga grabbed her bag and opened the car door, stepping out swiftly. Ivan gave her a wide eyed look that broke through his mask a little bit, and actually appeared slightly alarmed. "Go home and phone that woman from work you're probably fucking twice a week when I'm not around and tell her what a horrible cunt I am." She slammed the door shut in his face using all of her force, entire torso turning as she did, before he could respond, and walked away. She was shaking from how angry she was, her palms were sweating from it. Ivan's car turned back on behind her, tires screeching as he quickly backed up, and then sloppily turned through the grass, driving just a little too fast back down the driveway. Olga stood there and watched until the car's headlights were just about the only thing she could see, and then watched as he turned back off onto the road and sped away. She walked over to the side of her house, into the taller grass.

She leaned there and let herself breathe for a few minutes, head rested back against the stone and eyes closed, just listening to the sounds of the crickets and wind. She held her purse loosely, trying to calm herself down, stop her trembling. She knew he would call, just a few days later, probably just before she'd head back to the airport and try to apologize, acting remorseful, trying to be all sweet and concerned for her. He did it every single time, without fail. It never worked. From above, Olga heard the front door creak open. "Olga?" her older sister, Isidora, said. Olga looked down and sighed, stepping back around from where had been standing and walking towards the stairs.  
"You okay?" Isidora asked as Olga reached the top, reaching out to place her hands on the younger woman's shoulders. "Yeah," she answered, voice low and tired. Isidora gave her a knowing look, because she did know. Olga always confided in her about Ivan, and usually only her, because she didn't want to concern her parents or put that on her younger siblings. She gave her a knowing look and then Olga said to her, resigned, "Got into another argument."

**Author's Note:**

> afhdsjhfjds i was not expecting this to be my first suspiria related work posted on here and yet HERE IT IS! this legit turned into just me dumping all my grievances with men into wordpad ngl but i really like how it turned out..........i also apologize for the artistic license i sort of had to take on the geography (?) of russia. i hope u enjoyed tho!!


End file.
